


Cupid's Arrow

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [18]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Arrow to the Head, Ficlet, Fluffy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nick Stokes Whump, Whump Without Plot, didn't really expect this to get shippy but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 10:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Nick gets shot in the head with an arrow and falls in love all over again.





	Cupid's Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> Unexpectedly shippy, from an ask from an anon on tumblr who probably didn't expect a ficlet to come out of it but I just can't help myself when it comes to Nick whump.

The first sense that returns to him is his hearing. He can hear the buzz of a crowd, loud music. Perhaps he was at a concert, or maybe even a mall? 

He opens his eyes, the air is fresh, free flowing. He’s outside, but there’s a ceiling above him, the ceiling is glowing, flashing, there’s a beautiful dancing woman wiggling her finger as coins rain down from a dark curved rim above his eyes.

_Ching-ching-ching_ the sound of a slot machine cutting through the music. Imagery and sounds he had never experienced before, had only seen on television. 

“Sir, sir, can you hear me?”

He rolls his eyes to the left, there’s a man in the corner of his eye, wearing a hat with a blurred asterisk shape behind two squiggles intertwined. Paramedic, he tells himself. Makes sense that one would be there, he can’t seem to sit up, something is keeping his head nailed to the ground, so he must be there to help him.

But the man isn’t doing much, not yet, keeps making commands in all directions. Nick gets impatient, wants to know what is going on.

He lifts a hand to try and remove whatever is keeping his head down, his fingers just barely touch a plastic tube before being pulled away.

“Don’t touch that, sir,” the man advises him. His left eye twitches, something is spilling onto his eyeball. He moves his fingers towards it, ends up poking himself in the eye cause he doesn’t realize how close his finger is--when his vision re-calibrates, he sees that his finger is now coated in the blood that’s oozing down his face.

“Oh, Gahhhhd,” he moans slowly. He can taste the blood in his mouth, feels the acid rising through his throat. This is bad, bad, bad, _bad. _

“Sir, can you tell me your name?”

“Nick...Stoooookes.”

“Okay, Nick, we’re going to pick you up and put you on a stretcher. I need you to keep still, okay?” 

“Kay...”

“Nick! Nick, oh my god!” a voice calls out, louder in his right ear. 

His eyes move to the other side, slow, heavy blinks as everything is distorted, but he can see a man bursting through a waving sea of colors.

“What the _fuck?” _the same voice, lower, but rises again with one final offer of comfort before he blinks and doesn’t open his eyes again--“It’s okay, Nick, you’re going to be okay!”

The next time he opens his eyes, he’s in an overly bright room, wrapped under tight, rough blankets. His head no longer feels tethered to the ground, instead resting on something soft, but does feel...covered. 

Just as before, he can hear before he can fully register his surroundings, hushed voices and murmurs. Four blurs surrounding him, closing in on him. He doesn’t like the feeling.

“How the hell did someone get away with shooting an _arrow_ in the middle of Fremont Street?”

Fremont Street. Just like that song he likes. _Then over on Fremont Street, six bits won her a car..._

“They didn’t get away with it, they were caught two seconds after it went through Nick’s hat.”

_Nick...as in...me, Nick? _He wonders. Why would he be on Fremont Street? He was in Dallas, Texas. His first week at his new job, just started at the Dallas Police Department.

“Never thought those hats would do more than just shield us from the sun.” 

“Hey...Nick?” the voice, the same voice from earlier overtakes the others. The blur comes into focus, the voice belongs to a handsome man with strong eyebrows, short hair spiked up with faint highlights that glow under the harsh light. 

The other three blurs disappear, fade away. He wonders if they were even there to begin with, if they were just fragments of his waking mind.

“Who...Who are you?” he croaks. 

“It’s...It’s me, it’s Greg.” 

“Greg?” he asks, drawling out the “eh” sound to the man’s name. 

“Greg Sanders,” the man clarifies. “Your...we work together.”

“Work...gotta call in. Not going in...today...” 

He shoves the blanket off, tries to get out of the bed, he needs to find a phone, call in to his supervisor.

“Whoa, take it easy, dude. You’re not going anywhere.”

Greg puts a hand on his chest, pushes him back onto the bed. Nick lifts a hand onto Greg’s arm, studies his fingers. He looks up into Greg’s eyes, feels a little sorry, the poor kid looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Blood?”

“Yeah, there, uh...There was a lot of blood.”

His eyes focus on Greg’s clothing, a vest, not thick enough to be bulletproof, embroidered with a crime lab logo. He knew he was getting along with his fellow boys in blue, but didn’t expect the lab rats to care about him so quickly. But this wasn’t a lab tech from the Dallas Crime Lab...the badge read _Las Vegas_ Crime Lab.

“Vuh...Vegas?” 

His heart freezes, did he get so drunk the night before that he drove out to Las Vegas and get into some sort of accident? Not only would that be so stupid and embarrassing, but _incredibly _reckless and dangerous. Certainly tarnishing the proud Stokes name, his parents will disown him, if they don’t kill him, first. 

“Yes, you work--Where do you think we are?”

Poor Greg, he seems just as upset and frantic as Nick is.

“Texas,” he whispers, frightened. 

Greg raises a fist to his mouth, bites down on it. 

“Wrong?” Nick asks in a low whisper.

Greg nods, for the first time, Nick notices that his eyes are red.

“Wha...What happened?” he pants, his breathing is getting faster, he tries to keep up with it, can’t seem to keep pace with the rapid beeps from the machine beside him.

“You got shot in the head with an arrow while you were at a crime scene.”

“Crime scene?”

“Yeah, you’re a CSI. Working in Vegas.”

He groans. 

“Aw, man, I’m one of those nerds, huh?”

Greg chuckles, but stops himself shortly, and Nick wheezes into a brief laugh himself. 

“Your name is--”

“Nick. Stokes. I know _that_. Everything else is just sorta...fuzzy.”

He bites his lips, Greg seems to be avoiding his gaze. 

“We...friends?” he asks Greg, wanting to break the awkward silence that fell between them.

“A little more than that, but...yeah.” 

“More, as in...?”

Nick brushes his fingers against Greg’s hand.

Greg gulps, his cheeks turn red. Blushing. _Cute, _Nick muses to himself.

A short nod, as Greg clears his throat.

“Well...the arrow was kinda pointless, then.” 

“Hmm?”

“Seems like I was already shot by Cupid’s Arrow, don’t need a double dose.”

Greg laughs, louder and longer than before, the tension loosening in his body. A gleam in his eyes, recognition, that Nick mirrors in his own eyes. Smiles at him, too, because lab nerd Nick Stokes seems to be doing pretty good for himself...

Minus the arrow getting shot into his head. 


End file.
